


Unanticipated Ramifications

by PhoJoy



Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Angst, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Bruce is ooc, Cooking, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Tim Drake, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake-centric, Tutoring, emotional angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26981167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoJoy/pseuds/PhoJoy
Summary: Tim makes his favorite dish on occasion, perfecting it for his perfect family. Except- he never gets it right, and this time, for the worse.ORTim hates himself for not being perfect. He thinks everything's always his fault and Bruce proves him right.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 9
Kudos: 154





	Unanticipated Ramifications

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, so if you're from my main fic "The Gift of Ruins", I just want to let you know that I'm not abandoning the fic. I'm trying to get into college so it's currently on hiatus (give it till December). Also one of my biggest failings of my main series was the knowledge of what is considered "child abuse", whether it be physical, mental or emotional. Please let me know if what I written down below, is considered "abuse" (since I have a hardtime differentiating between abuse and bad parenting techniques). This is also based off of a real story so please be gentle in the comments. <3
> 
> Enjoy!

Tim happily hummed under his breath as he stood on his tiptoes, pouring eggplant and bell peppers into the red simmering soup in the pot. He methodically stirred the pot, folding all the vegetables into the soup, blending the colorful flavors of each veggie into tastes of tomatoes, bayleaf and lemons.  
  
It had been a long time since Tim had a chance to make ratatouille and cook for the family. There were always cases to catch up with and coworkers swarming around him in WE, constantly asking for approval and tips on filing paperwork.  
  
He sniffed and smiled, this was a special occasion, everyone always loved his ratatouille. They praised him for caring for each vegetable, choosing the ripest ones, generously covering the diced veggies in olive oil and salt as well as creating a herb and spice profile inside his mind, each flavor perfected.  
  
“Hey Timmy! I heard you were cooking tonight!” a voice echoed from the dining room. Tim jumped and turned around with his wooden spoon (which he named Tom) at hand. A friendly face peeked out from behind the arch and grinned at him. Dick walked towards Tim with a motorcycle helmet under the crook of his arm and a crooked grin plastered over his face.  
  
His older brother wrestled him into a hug and attempted to swipe a kiss on the crown of his head, but Tim ducked, enjoying the look of disappointment on his face.  
  
“Bruce will love this,” Dick cheerily piped as he peered into the cozy, bubbling pot of soup. “Your cooking is always special.”  
  
The only thing Tim really knew how to make was ratatouille, which made him specialized in the art of making ratatouille. No dish of ratatouille was the same, Tim had always eyeballed and replaced ingredients, making each dish different from one another.  
  
“Earth to Timmy,” a hand waved in front of his face, “I’m going to place my bag in my room, have fun cooking for tonight!”  
  
Tim rolled his eyes and smirked, “Always.”  
  
Dick skipped out the room, waving to Tim, leaving the kitchen very, very quiet and unsettling. Tim felt his back crawl and a breeze against his neck. He stiffened. There was nothing there. Nothing at all.  
  
It’s okay Tim. No one’s behind you.  
  
Tim turned around to check. No one.  
  
He shook his head and went back to cooking, he always felt like someone was watching.  
  
\------------  
  
A couple of weeks ago  
  
Tim scratched the back of his head as he worked out some questions he got from Math 55 (Although Ivy University was quite prestigious, he absolutely dreaded that college and felt more and more depressed every hour he sat in a classroom). The equations swam in front of his eyes and he felt more and more exhausted.  
  
Tim had called Barbara, Dick and Jason on the phone, desperate from any help he could get from an older mentor. Each one had different reactions. Barbara relayed how she was way too afraid to take Math 55 during college, Dick explained how he didn’t even have Math 55 in Hudson University and Jason laughed at him as he was a high school “dropout”.  
  
He dreaded to call Bruce. Tim was way too ashamed to call Bruce. Bruce relied on him for all the sciency-mathy stuff and he felt like he would really let Bruce down if he asked for help.  
  
Tim itched to grab at his phone but clenched his hand and bit his lip. He will endure this. He will figure this out.  
  
“Hey Tim, what did you have there?”  
  
Tim bolted up, spinning around to see Bruce hanging his scarf onto a clothing rack.  
  
“B-Bruce?”  
  
Bruce strolled towards the coffee table and took a peek at the worksheets and pile of notes on it.  
  
“Math 55, huh? Only 12 kids out of 226 understood that class.”  
  
Tim peered up at Bruce, hopefully. “Were you one of those 12 kids?”  
  
“You’re lucky that I am.”  
  
Tim sighed of relief, maybe he wouldn’t sink in this ship after all.  
  
“Here, let me explain this in simpler terms…”  
  
Tim tried, he really did. Maybe it was because of the mass consumption of coffee Tim bestowed upon himself that day, maybe it was the lack of sleep from all those cases he was trying to catch up with. Anyhow, Tim began to space out, not hearing anything Bruce was saying.  
  
“Tim, are you paying attention?”  
  
Tim snapped back into reality. “Wait, sorry. Repeat that?”  
  
Bruce frowned and huffed a bit, before rubbing the back of his neck a bit. Bruce continued.  
  
Tim tried once again, glaring at the paper and watching Bruce’s mouth move. He rubbed at his eyes and pinched himself to try and bring himself back to the present.  
  
“Do you understand me?”  
  
Tim blinked again, feeling slightly frustrated and upset with himself. “Bruce… maybe we should save this for tomorrow. I’m not feeling that great right now, I’m really tired. I’m sorry, I really am.”  
  
Bruce stared at him for a moment, silence filled the room. Tim took it as a signal to leave. He stood up and began to make his way upstairs, when he felt a hand clench onto his wrist and pull him back down.  
  
Tim turned back to frown at Bruce, who became stone faced. “I’m really tired, Bruce. I won’t be able to understand anything you say.”  
  
“We’re not leaving until you understand this concept. You’re not leaving until you prove this theorem.”  
  
Tim wrinkled his nose at the tone of Bruce’s voice. “Bruce, I really can’t-”  
  
“I’m sick of this Tim.” Tim paled at those words.  
  
“I’m sick of your excuses, you aren’t getting out of this.”  
  
“But I’m not-”  
  
“WE’RE NOT LEAVING UNTIL YOU PROVE THIS THEOREM.” Bruce shoved a slip of paper in front of Tim, knocking a cup of coffee off the coffee table, sending brown liquid all over the carpet.  
  
“What the hell, Tim!”  
  
“I didn’t-”  
  
“Do your work!”  
  
Tim felt tears begin to swim in his eyes, it was always like this. It always ended like this. He scribbled an attempt at a proof of a theorem, with Bruce staring over his neck with an intense staring match.  
  
“NO! HOW MANY TIMES ARE YOU-” Bruce rapped his knuckles hard against Tim’s temple. “-GOING TO GET IT INTO YOUR BRAIN?”  
  
“But I don’t understand-”  
  
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND? I EXPLAINED THIS TO YOU MULTIPLE TIMES!”  
  
Tim couldn’t answer, he swallowed the glob in his throat. He didn’t want to cry, he didn’t want Bruce to see him cry.  
  
Tim could feel an impact and a sharp sting on the back of his head. Tim wanted to burst into tears so badly, all he wanted to do was pass his test and go to sleep.  
  
“THIS IS SO EASY! HOW CAN YOU NOT UNDERSTAND THIS?”  
  
“Bruce…” the front door had opened without either of them having heard it. Jason and Dick stood in the arc of the doorway. Dick horrified and angered and Jason, confused and shocked.  
  
Tim felt mortified, he could feel all the blood rushing to his head and he bolted up the stairs.  
  
“Tim!”  
  
“What the hell Bruce?!”  
  
“I was trying to give him a lesson!”  
  
“TIM!”  
  
“You didn’t have to be so aggressive!”  
  
“TIMOTHY JACKSON DRAKE! GET BACK DOWN HERE!”  
  
\---------------  
  
Tim never got the amount of chili flakes right. He always eyeballed the chili flakes, the most dangerous of them all.  
  
It was a while since he brushed up on his chili flake profiling, was it… a handful of chili flakes?  
  
Hopefully it wasn’t too spicy, Bruce had to dilute it with water the last time he made ratatouille.  
  
He spooned the pot of ratatouille into a large bowl, swiping at edges of the bowl to make sure it was cleaned and perfectly plated. He held his breath and carefully brought it into the dining room.  
  
The dining room was already filled up with his loved ones. Tim smiled softly as he watched Duke sneakily take a video of Jason and Damian playing footsie underneath the table while Dick and Steph braided Cass’s hair. Alfred stood in the corner of the dining room, ready at hand for the next big disaster to occur. And of course, Bruce, who sat at the head chair, looking at his family fondly.  
  
Tim sat the giant bowl down in the center of the table, next to the salmon and rice and sat down next to Duke. Each of his siblings took a whiff of the bowl and complimented his cooking. Even Damian looked appreciative, content that Tim could make a mean vegetarian dish that was both nutritious and delicious.  
  
Each person took a large scoop of rice or hunk of bread and poured a ladle of ratatouille on top of it (Tim would argue that eating it with rice was the only correct way to eat ratatouille). Tim sneakily passed glances to everyone else, hope growing in his soul that they enjoyed his dish and that he cooked it well.  
  
Tim always predicted each person’s reactions correctly. Jason and Cass hummed under their breath whenever something tasted good, Steph and Dick would bounce slightly or do a little dance. Damian wouldn’t say anything, if he didn’t like his dish, he would make it known. Duke was always the polite one at the table, he’d always heap on seconds, thirds and fourths, it would be his main diet of the meal. Alfred would give him a pat on the back and offer to do the dishes for him. Bruce would give a thumbs up or compliment a specific part of the dish he liked and call him chum.  
  
Tim’s eyes focused on Bruce, who had taken his first bite of ratatouille. Tim held his breath, waiting and garnering for his reaction.  
  
Bruce was stoney faced. Tim held his breath, all the chatter and jargon of the rest of the room pushed to the back of his mind.  
  
“It’s too spicy.”  
  
Tim felt his heart drop.  
  
He never got the chili flakes right.  
  
Bruce cursed and slammed his spoon onto the table. Everyone immediately quieted down and turned towards him.  
  
“I can’t eat all this spicy crap at my age.”  
  
Everyone turned to look at Tim with pity.  
  
Tim immediately folded back into himself, feeling mortified and guilty.  
  
“Are you trying to kill me Timothy? Is that what you’re trying to do?”  
  
Tim mumbled “It was an accident…”.  
  
“Why the hell did you make it spicy? I hate this spicy crap.”  
  
Anger flared inside him, he didn’t mean to do that. “It was an accident! I didn’t mean to add so much spice!”  
  
Bruce huffed and held his head in his hands.  
  
“This stuff can kill me at my age! You know this!”  
  
“I SAID-”  
  
“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?” Bruce yelled.  
  
Tim couldn’t take it anymore, he stormed out of the dining room back up to his room, feeling the stares of everyone else bore into the back of his head.  
  
He slept on his side.

  


It was his fault, all his fault.

  


He didn’t care, when he heard the dining room erupt into chaos the moment he left.

  


He didn’t care, when Bruce sat awkwardly next to him, apologizing for his words.

  


He didn’t care, when his siblings and friends surrounded him with hugs and kisses.

  


He didn’t care, when they all checked up on him frequently.

  


He didn’t care, when he moved out of the Manor and back into university.

  


He didn’t care, when they all stopped calling and texting him.

  


He didn’t care that he was all alone.

  


He didn’t care that none of this was his fault.


End file.
